


Attempt Number 1

by WerewolvesAreReal



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Indeterminate time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 01:26:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10843629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/pseuds/WerewolvesAreReal
Summary: A clone tries to break past his programming.





	Attempt Number 1

Flinch knows his reputation. He didn't really have a reputation in training, and he didn't have a name, either. Just a number. That's not so strange. Clones get their nicknames for special traits, note-worthy acts. Flinch hasn't done much of anything, really. He just -

“Did you hear me?” Skywalker snaps. Flinch twitches. His whole body shakes back with the movement. He blinks up at his commanding officer.

g _oodsoldiersfollowordersgoodsoldiersfollowordersgoodsoldiers -_

“Yes, Sir,” he lies.

Skywalker gives him a severe look before walking away. Flinch wavers in place before he spots Fives, opposite, and the older trooper nods discreetly. Toward the tents. Right. Flinch hurries to help set up.

 

( _goodsoldiers - )_

The 501st eats together easily, casually, shielded from the latest planet's blistering winds by two outcroppings of rock on either side. Flinch lingers over his rations, ignoring the general chatter floating over his head. The splitting buzz in his head is quieter, today, than it usually is. He sneaks a side-ways glance. Skywalker doesn't seem to be in a good mood; the jedi is sitting alone, eschewing company. He huddles over his rations, stares out at the stars, and practically exudes a desire to remain alone.

Fives, trying to be helpful, shakes his head when Flinch rises. This time Flinch ignores him.

“General,” he says.

Skywalker frowns at him. “Yes, Soldier?”

Skywalker pauses. Too obviously. Wondering, trying to remember something. “...Flinch,” he amends.

The buzz is getting worse. “There's something important I need to tell you, Sir. Confidential.”

Skywalker raises his eyebrows. But he sets aside his food, obliging, and follows Flinch away from the camp. Out of earshot.

Flinch doesn't know if other clones have his same fears, his same knowledge. If the others would try to stop him or try to help him. He tries not to think about it. He doesn't think about a lot of things.

His eyes feel wet when he looks at Skywalker. “I need to tell you something,” he says, through chattering teeth. “Sir. Sir. I need to tell you. You can't let the others know I spoke to you about this; none of the clones. None of us.”

Skywalker starts to look tense. “Flinch?”

The world sparks and shudders. Skywalker peers at him with brown eyes softened in professional concern. A lightsaber clicks like a paperweight against his side. But Flinch hears it. A lightsaber is a tool is a weapon is a _symbol._ A badge of peace, a mark of the security of the Republic. A thin line of bondage, declaiming leadership and saying, _here is your commander, your general, your leadermasterobeyobeyobey -_

_goodsoldiersfolloworders_

“Sir,” Flinch says. He cringes when Skywalker moves to speak. Repeats, babbling. “Sir. Sir. You have to know. You have to know. You have to know.” Cringes, again.

The lightsaber handle flickers with moonlight as Skywalker takes a step forward.

Flinch blurts, “I'm a good soldier!”

Skywalker stops. “...Um.”

Flinch can barely move. His head buzzes.

And then everything is clear and crystalline. It's like he's staring at Skywalker through the reflections of broken glass, scattered and distant. Distant. He wishes he were always this calm and removed; it feels nice.

“I'm sorry, Sir. I don't have anything to say. Please return to your dinner.” He turns and marches back to the camp with regulation-perfect steps.

After a moment Skywalker follows.

Two weeks later Flinch is transferred to a calm, planet-side post in the Outer Rim. He is killed in transit during a surprise Separatist attack. And as he lies dying the terrible hum in his body starts to fade, and he whispers, to no one in particular:

“We're going to kill you all. We're not what you think. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

 


End file.
